Until Next Time
by ShaneLC
Summary: What if the Grounders and Arkers did not initially meet on bad terms? What could have been different? Could they have had a chance, in the end? (Some liberties taken on the Grounder culture and characters/relationships.)
1. Chapter 1

**So I got really into the 100 and then Lexa was killed off, but that is a long rant for another day. I'm a little bit obsessed, so along with reading all the fanfiction on Clexa, I also began writing my own to contribute. I'm going to try to keep the Grounder culture similar to how it is in the show, but will also take my own liberties on it. This story will serve as what could have happened if Arkers and Grounders didn't initially meet on bad terms, essentially.**

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"My name is Clarke. I came from the Ark. I'm part of the 100 sent here. My people are still out there." A young woman rocked back and forth, legs tucked into her chest. Her blue eyes darted from side-to-side, an almost paranoid need to stay constantly aware of her surroundings obvious in them.

"My name is Clarke. I came from the Ark. I'm part of the 100 sent here. My people are still out there." Her blond hair was dirty and matted. Her clothes were old and worn with some tears in the fabric. Her boots were frayed and almost at the end of their rope. The jacket she wore, a memento of a simpler time, was faded and well0loved, showing signs of being patched up several times.

"My name is Clarke. I came from the Ark. I'm part of the 100 sent here. My people are still out there. My name is Clarke. I came from the Ark. I'm part of the 100 sent here. My people are still out there. My name is Clarke..." She repeated the mantra many times, her voice hitched in a constant state of hysteria.

Clarke and 99 other teenaged delinquents were sent to Earth to see if the planet was livable. Really, it was the equivalent of a death sentence; if they survived, great. If not, that was 100 less people using up the severely limited resources provided by the Ark. The rules and punishments were harsh, but necessary for the last of mankind's survival.

The 100 stepped out of the dropship and experienced the ground, overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and smells that greeted them. They breathed fresh air for the first time, lungs expanding to greedily suck in large breaths of oxygen. They touched the trees and plants, sifted dirt between their fingers, awe reflected in their faces. Soon, there was laughter and pay when the realization that they were free set in. Before long, the sun began to set and exhaustion made itself known, along with hunger. The air began to cool and the sky slowly darkened. Everyone gathered around the dropship, suddenly unsure. The group realized that they were on their own. It was up to them to survive.

Somehow, the little posse Clarke had situated herself among had been selected to lead. Bellamy was quick to take charge and assign tasks, but Clarke was there to offer advice and suggestions until it became clear who the true leader of their motley crew was. She saw the big picture, but also the details needed to ensure their survival. Octavia, Bellamy's hot-headed sister, utilized her aggressive nature to make sure the others listened to Bellamy and Clarke. Monty and Raven took care of the technological and mechanical needs of the group. Wells and Finn helped Octavia maintain order. For a little while, everything seemed to be going well. Everyone had food, shelter and comradery.

Then came the storm. Clarke didn't know what happened, but all of a sudden there was crashing thunder, blinding lightning, wild torrents of rain, and screeching winds. Amongst the chaos, Clarke and her crew attempted to account for everyone, but came up short. Her, Wells and Finn set out to search for the missing teens, but were quickly derailed by the violent storm. They tried to make it back as quickly as possible, but it was dark and chaotic, so of course they found themselves lost. And suddenly, Clarke couldn't see Wells or Finn, or hear them. She panicked, desperately searched for them, but nothing. The last thing she remembered was coming across a metal hatch before collapsing.

When Clarke woke, she was shocked to find herself in a sterile, white room with wires and needles attached to her. She recognized the technology, but confusion and fear led her actions when she escaped the room and took a young worker girl hostage. Upon coming across the large dining room full of people, the blonde had frozen and released the girl. Later, the leader of these underground people, Daunte, explained their vulnerability to the radiation outside and welcomed her to the Mountain. When Clarke made to leave in search of her friends, she was...dissuaded, which made her highly suspicious of the facility. So, she subtly snuck around while feigning gratitude, searching for exits. It was during one of her midnight "strolls" that she discovered the Mountain's insidious secret.

Kept in small cages were humans, except they were different from Clarke and the Mountain Men. Clarke couldn't place it, but there was something wild and dangerous about them, despite their weak, emaciated states. Some had tattoos, others scarification designs. When she tried to go near or speak to them, their offered her hostile words in strange tongues. Horrified and scared, Clarke fled from the room to her quarters. She curled up on her bed, mind racing with what she saw. But above all, she knew she had to do something.

Mind set, Clarke formulated a plan to escape, find her people, and incite them to help her rescue the people in the cages. She vegan asking questions about both the facility and the world outside, learning that "savages" populated the outside world and were immune to the radiation that proved deadly to the Mountain Men. She also learned that there was a treatment for radiation exposure that reversed the effects, giving Clarke a clue as to what the "grounders", as she heard used in reference to the savages, were being used for. She also stole schematics of the entire facility, making her plot for escape more feasible.

While she gathered intelligence and plotted, Clarke visited the caged Grounders to try to communicate with them. They remained hostile, but some regarded her with muted curiosity. She spoke to them about her origins and what led to her current predicament in the hopes they somehow understood. It was during one of her visits that the blonde learned what the Grounders were being used for from her place hidden in a recently-freed cage. She watched in horror as a young boy, probably no older than 12, was anesthetized and strung up by his ankles while his blood was drained from his body. His lifeless body was taken into a room where a loud, metallic sound was heard. Upon later investigation, Clarke learned it was essentially a trash chute to discard bodies.

Deeply disturbed, Clarke decided she would escape from the cute. She took her schematics and went down the chute after ensuring her return to the Grounders. She ran through tunnels crawling with crazed, cannibalistic men, managing to survive by the skin of her teeth. After a few days, Clarke found the dropship and her return was rejoiced. However, she learned the camp was ravaged by the very creatures she had encountered in the tunnels and several people had been taken while many others had been killed, including Wells and Finn. Further distraught, Clarke swallowed her grief and explained her ordeal. She told them how she suspected the Mountain Men were responsible for the attack and kidnapping.

A plan was made and executed successfully. Clarke, Bellamy, Raven, Monty, and Wick, a fellow engineer friend of Raven's, managed to infiltrate the Mountain during the dead of night. Raven and Wick destroyed the power generators, which blew the power and forced all inhabitants to the fifth level of the facility with threats of radiation while simultaneously eradicated most of the crazed tunnel men. It also left the level with the Grounders Mountain-Men free. Clarke, Monty and Bellamy had found the control room to find their friends and unlock the main entrance when a disturbing revelation was made.

Her missing people, along with some of the people that still lived on the Ark (Clarke later learned the rest of the Ark inhabitants had made the travel to Earth), were being strapped to tables and their bones drilled into. Among them, Clarke was dismayed to see her mother. Her brain worked furiously, synapses firing and connections being drawn and options being laid out. Her suspicions were confirmed after running them by Bellamy and Monty. After much deliberation, Clarke pulled the lever which flooded all levels with radiation and killed the Mountain Men, bodies burning and blistering from exposure. Bellamy and Monty had stared at the blonde with thinly veiled horror, despite ultimately agreeing with her, or at least doing nothing to stop her. They had focused on the cameras, aware that Clarke had just murdered over 300 people, young children and babies included, frozen. And then Clarke turned to them, eyes hard and dead, and ordered them to find Raven and Wick before going to free their people while she went to release the Grounders.

The Grounders had seemed to know Clarke had freed them, for while wary, they were also cooperative and helped her free the others. Clarke was shocked to count almost one hundred of them, and even more shocked to learn many spoke English. They told her she and her people would be welcome in their villages and among their clans, that work would spread that a Sky Princess had defeated the Mountain and that "Heda" would wish to honor her. Confused and numb, the blonde had merely smiled and showed them the way to freedom. Later, encased in her mother's arms and despite the forgiveness offered by her people and the others from the Ark, she knew she had to get away. With a heavy heart, Clarke bid Bellamy goodbye and asked him to relay her decision to the others, which he reluctantly agreed to. Despite the isolation she had enforced upon herself, Clarke was still haunted by her actions, tormented by the dead, and still disbelieving that she was capable of such an atrocity.

Days turned to weeks which turned to months. Clarke survived by going from village to village, where the people were only happy to assist the "Mountain Slayer', as she had learned she was referred to, along with Sky Princess. She learned many things from the Grounders: hunting, fighting with and without weapons, cloth-making, herbs for medicines, edible growth, rudimentary tracking, and their culture, amongst other things. She even gained a working knowledge of their language, which was helpful in trade and communication. She was also happy to learn the Trikru, the Grounders who inhabited the forest, and her people then known as Skaikru, had established a tentative relationship thanks to the diplomatic Marcus Kane and the knowledge of _Skai Prisa_ hailing from Skaikru.

At the sixth month mark of Clarke's self-imposed banishment, the blonde learned she was being hunted. She had no idea why or by who, but after the first few attacks and the discovery of wanted posters, the blonde retreated into full isolation. Thanks to the skills taught to her by the Trikru, Clarke had become a formidable opponent. She took every opportunity to hide or flee, but soon killing had become an equal option. Fight or flight became her way of life, blood a permanent stain on her hands. Most days, Clarke had no idea she was still alive.

On a rare venture into a village, the woman she traded often with, Niylah, informed the blonde she was being called "Wanheda", the Commander of Death. She supposed it made sense, considering the hundreds she'd killed at the Mountain and the dozens more that were sent after her. Regardless, Clarke hated the title, hated what she had had to do to earn the name. She especially hated how it only seemed to spur more bounty hunters after her, thus leaving more death in her wake. Late into the night as Clarke slipped from the soft furs of Niylah's bed and back into the wilderness, yet another life fell by her hand. She resolved then not to step foot into another village.

As time wore on, the lack of socializing a constant exposure to life as a hide away seemed to transform Clarke into little more than an animal: skittish, wary, but dangerous when cornered. She founder herself forgetting things she shouldn't forget, causing her to verge on borderline paranoia. She would dream of those she killed, see them sporadically when awake, and could hear their whispers when she squeezed her eyes shut. Then the dead would sometimes turn out to be the living and try to capture her until she either lost them or killed them. In between these episodes, Clarke would be focused on hunting, resting or attempting to maintain some semblance of hygiene. There was little time for reminiscing.

Until Clarke forgot the faces of her people.

From the point, Clarke regressed into a scared child that would repeat the same mantra continuously until forced to act. _"My name is Clarke. I came from the Ark. I'm part of the 100 sent here. My people are still out there."_ In these moments, the blonde could remember her friends, her family...her people. She could remember how she had come to Earth, the intense connections she had made during the brief peace the 100 experienced before the storm, but also the barbarities she had committed, the sterility and inhumanity of living on the Ark, and other things she wished to forget. So Clarke would rock herself, reverently muttering the words while her emotions tore at her psyche.

"My name is Clarke. I came from the Ark. I'm part of the 100 sent here. My people are still out there. My name is Clarke. I came from-"

A loud crack reached Clarke's ears, causing the woman to freeze. There was an unnatural stillness, Clarke's hyperaware senses told her. _Danger!_

As quietly as she could manage, Clarke pulled herself into a crouch, drawing her knife from her hip slowly. She hoped her place hidden amongst thick bushes was secure, but would not depend on it. Carefully, her wide eyes scanned the area for what does not belong. She forced her breaths to slow and steady. Her nerves hummed in anticipation, heart pounding against her ribcage. She knew someone was there.

And then, more snaps and crunching could be heard as two men became visible, swords drawn and movements cautious. Following them was a dark-skinned woman with near-cropped black hair, hand on the hilt of her sword and shoulders tensed. She had faded tattoos around both of her flinty eyes, her lips drawn into a hard line. Clarke could tell this woman was dangerous. She doubted this was a fight she could win.

Clarke cursed inwardly, knuckles going white from the tightness with which she gripped her knife. Her mind quickly formulated several flight options in the instance of various scenarios, never losing sight of the Grounders. She had become adept at making Plans A-Z for every obstacle she encountered, which probably attributed to her survival.

The men murmured something to the woman. She nodded and called out to the trees behind the small clearing they stood in. Hardly a second later, another woman stepped into the clearing. She was of average height, lean, and possibly as young as Clarke was. Black paint was spread over her eyes with three lines dragged down each cheek, reminiscent of tear-tracks. Her brown hair was drawn out of her face with a thick braid and half of the mass let down. She wore all black clothing and boots, thick shoulder armor on her left shoulder and a red sash that dragged in the dirt. On her back were two twin swords. She was beautiful, but the stony expression on her face and the way the hairs on the back of Clarke's neck stood at attention told the blonde that this woman was deadly and powerful. She knew she would die at her hands.

Just then, the young woman called out with words that froze the blood in Clarke's veins, her eyes locked directly on her hiding spot. "I know you are here, Wanheda." And then she began to stride confidently in Clarke's direction, sending a burst of cold fear through her body.

Clarke briefly considered her dwindling options before jumping into action. She flung her knife at the brunette before sprinting in the opposite direction, hoping to have distracted the woman and her group long enough to have gained a reasonable head start. She could run for hours now, which she doubted many others could also boast of. And she was fast.

Suddenly, she felt her legs bind and she toppled to the ground with a crushing thud, barely able to bract her fall with her hands. A frenzied glanced behind her had her slicing through the ropes around her legs with her spare knife. The young warrior woman was within shouting distance, clearly just as speedy as cardio-inclined as the blonde, and gaining quickly, the others not far behind. Once freed, Clarke staggered to her feet and began sprinting again. She heard some yelling from the woman Trigedasleng, the Grounder language, but paid it no mind, focused solely on evading capture.

Then, a horn sounded from her left. Clarke's heart dropped when ahead of her popped out several Grounders, all Trikru judging by their tattoos. She veered right, only to see more blocking her path. She stumbled to a sharp halt, chest heaving and head on a wild swivel in search of an escape. Her knife was held out in front of her in warning.

Some of the Grounders moved towards her and she snarled, body tensed. Clarke noticed how they hesitated at her aggression and knew it was because they were aware of her bloody infamy, but felt no remorse at the moment. It was flight, fight or die and when the brunette with the painted face came into view, Clarke knew she could not afford to hold back. Resigned, she pulled the handgun from its holster and directed it at the woman, simultaneously taking the weapon off safe and cocking it. She saw how everyone around her tensed...save for the one staring down the barrel.

There was no fear in the brunette's gaze, though her eyes did narrow at the threat. Clarke's breathing was ragged and she thought this Grounder was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

She was also glad she had thought to bring quite a few magazines for her gun when she left her people all those months ago.

"I don't want to kill you, but I will," the blonde called out in Trigedasleng, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Please, just let me go."

The sounds of weapons being drawn let Clarke know she wasn't going anywhere, not without a fight.

The woman before her, however, did not draw her weapons. Instead, she spoke, "Wanheda, I wish you no harm. Come and you will be safe." Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, fitting for her apparent stoic nature.

At that, Clarke scoffed and readjusted the gun in her grip. She glanced at the numerous Grounders surrounding her before pointing out, "This force you bring proves you lie." There is the beginning of an indignant uproar before they are silenced by the brunette. Clarke noticed the ease with which she commanded them, the instant respect she was afforded, and realized this woman must be important. "Who do you come to deliver me to?"

This time, her words did not elicit any response from earlier dissenter. She began to feel her question was stupid, especially with the incredulous look the dark-skinned woman from earlier afforded her, when she was answered.

"I am Lexa, Commander of the Blood." Her voice held no arrogance, but she spoke in such a way that demanded attention and deference. "I serve none. All serve me. I have come to offer the great Wanheda sanctuary from those who desire her power."

The breath left Clarke's lungs in a stuttered gasp. She know of Heda, the Commander of the 12 Clans of Grounders appointed by the spirit of the previous Commander. The woman was a beast: unbeatable, intelligent, and ruthless. She did what no Heda had ever dared and brought all 12 Clans together into one coalition to end the constant wars. Every challenger she faced never lived to see another day. Those who defied her law faced harsh punishment, yet she was just and fair. She protected her people fiercely and swiftly destroyed any threat to them.

And she was here for Clarke.

The gun trembled in Clarke's hand.

Sensing the cracks created in the blonde's defense, Lexa slowly crept towards Clarke, her eyes never leaving the trapped woman's. As she drew closer, Clarke could see the green of her eyes. Their intensity and focus stole her breath, weakened her resolved. Those eyes, she knew, could see everything and perhaps into her own blackened soul. Their gazes remained locked, even as Lexa's chest touched the barrel of the gun.

A long tear trailed down Clarke's cheek, leaving a streak in the dirt caked on her skin, because she knew it was over. She had nowhere to go from that point. If she ran, she'd be caught. If she killed Lexa, she would undoubtedly suffer a horrendous death. She was terrified of her fate, but also relieved that her days of hiding were over.

Clarke dropped her arm, gun hanging uselessly at her side. She noted the brief flicker of surprise that flashed across Lexa's face, noted by the miniscule bob of her throat and the tiny hitch of her chest. Careful observation had kept Clarke alive, but now it seemed it offered her a new skill: the ability to read even the most guarded of expressions.

"Heda," Clarke breathed, suddenly exhausted. "I am tired of hiding."

Lexa jutted out her chin. "Wanheda should cower to no one."

Clarke clenched her jaw at the title, but decided not to deny it at the moment, especially with the jumpy Grounders that still surrounded her.

"Why do you want to help me?"

Eyes locked, Clarke saw only honesty when Lexa said, "You saved my people form the Mountain, eliminated most of the Reapers that terrorized my villages, and destroyed that wretched place which took our people for many years. My people no longer fear being taken. You have provided that peace of mind, for which I wish to offer my gratitude."

Clarke held that steady, sure gaze, battling her newfound feelings of trust against her body's automatic desire to flee from the unknown. She searched for any suggestion of deceit, tentative of making a rash decision, but found none. The Commander had nothing to hide. She had no reason to lie, having made it clear she could simply take Clarke whenever she wished and kill her just as easily.

Coming to a decision, Clarke holstered her weapon and left herself vulnerable.

"I will come, Heda."


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's chapter two! It's short and probably a little bland, but necessary to set up future relationships. Enjoy :)**

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It had been a week since Clarke had come to Polis with the Commander. Set up in Polis tower, which was where Lexa lived, she had been placed in a large, furnished room on the same floor as Lexa due to her status as Wanheda and given freedom to come and go as she pleased, provided two guards be with her for safety. Her needs would be sought to by the servants assigned to her, but Lexa would come to check on her every so often.

The first few nights were difficult for Clarke. She could barely rest in the new environment, on high alert for danger. She ate little, suspicious of the food. She prevented anyone from coming into the room, distrustful of everyone. It had gotten to the point that Lexa had to personally assure the jumpy blonde that if she wanted to harm or kill her, she would have done so without preamble. The logic allowed Clarke to begin to relax and assume a semblance of normalcy she had nearly forgotten.

The first thing Clarke did was bathe. Her servants quickly set up the tub, studiously ignoring the piercing stare Wanheda set upon them, before leaving her to her own devices. When she slipped into the warm water, the blonde released a blissful moan. The heat was a welcome treat for the tense muscles, gently coaxing them into a state of relaxation. She almost fell asleep. Instead, when the water began to cool, she thoroughly washed her body and hair. Once finished, the water had turned brown from her filth, earning a disgusted grimace from her.

When the servants returned to dispose of the water, Clarke queried about food. Soon after, several plates of food were delivered to her. One plate held meat and potatoes, another vegetable and bread, and the last had fruit. The large servings were a Godsend to Clarke who had not eaten a full meal in weeks and even less during the past few days. The first bites had her eyes rolling back as she savored the flavor, allowing herself to take the time to enjoy her meal, for once. Even so, the food was gone quickly and the woman groaned from an overly-full stomach.

And finally, with a clean body and clothes and a full belly, Clarke buried herself in the furs on the large bed and slept deeply, her nightmares absent for once.

Now, Clarke was strolling down the city streets, conscious of the two guards following behind her. Although she was uncomfortable from the attention she was receiving, something she had gotten used to during her travels, it felt good to be around people again.

The blonde had been fondly watching a group of children play-fighting when she heard her name. Turning, Clarke gave an excited grin when she saw a familiar face.

"Darren!" She went and clasped the man's large forearm, his hand dwarfing her own arm. He was a bear of a man, tall and broad with thick cords of muscle and tanned from many days under the sun. He stood an easy two heads over Clarke.

"And here I thought I would never see you again!" He grinned, gray eyes twinkling. "I hear Heda has offered you board here in Polis?"

Clarke nodded, warm smile still in place. "Yes. I was hesitant, but so far I have been treated well."

"If Heda promised her protection, then you shall be protected, you stubborn little thing."

Clarke offered the man a wry grin, glancing back at her two guards. "I'm beginning to see that. What brings you to Polis? Is your family doing ok?"

"They are here. I am representing my village in the Games. Cynthia and the children wished to cheer for me." He explained, his barrel chest puffing out with pride.

"The Games?" Clarke's eyebrows furrowed. "What's that?"

The bearded man deflated at the blonde's ignorance, although it did not come as a shock to him. He knew of her non-Grounder heritage.

"It is a yearly celebration meant to keep the Coalition bonded. One warrior from each village in every Clan is chosen to represent their village in friendly combat. First," Darren held up one finger, "warriors from each Clan will battle each other until there is one victor from every Clan. Then, each victor from each Clan will be set against each other. The winner brings their Clan glory and pride."

Clarke listened with rapt attention, her curiosity peaked.

"There are many festivities and side competitions others can partake it, like archery, blacksmithing, hunting, art, and other things. There are many prizes and inflated egos to be had," Darren joked.

Clarke chuckled at that, knowing full well the truth behind that statement. "Perhaps Heda found me at the right time." She mused.

The two exchanged more conversation in the middle of the crowded street until Darren excused himself to meet with his family for dinner. After requesting he deliver her regards to his family, Clarke promised to view the man's fight when the time came before they continued on with their separate endeavors.

On her way back to her quarters, the blonde thought of Darren and the battle skills he had bestowed upon her when she came upon his village her first month of isolation. She knew he would do well, her current living status proving as much. The baseline of her hand-to-hand combat skills had come from him, along with her sword-play. Although she learned much from him and grew fond of the hulking man, Clarke had not been planning to stay in one place. A little over one month had passed when she left in search of a new village. Her travels led her to having well-rounded fighting and survival skills, the combination having kept her alive and free when she was being hunted.

Shaking the thoughts of the last few months from her head, knowing the memories of death would be quick to appear, Clarke made her way into her quarters. Once in the privacy of the room, she breathed a sigh of relief. While she had missed socialized and being around people, the months of solitude made the blonde unused to masses of people and left her feeling virtually claustrophobic.

Small doses, she decided.

Just as Clarke moved to lay on the bed, a knock on the bedroom door sounded. Eying it warily, she called out for entrance.

Head held high and shoulders back, Lexa strode into the room, dressed in her typical all-black ensemble and red sash, minus the shoulder guard and war paint. She did have a curious gear symbol situated between her eyebrows that immediately drew Clarke's attention.

"Hello, Clarke," She greeted, the blonde's name rolling off her tongue in a way no one seemed able to replicate. Her hands folded behind her back. "I heard you ventured into the city today. Was the experience pleasant?"

"It was." Clarke paused, unsure of whether to go into more detail or not.

Seeming to sense her guest's hesitance, Lexa stood silently in patience. She noted the tenseness of her posture, pleased to see the Sky Girl was more relaxed compared to her first few nights. She expected the girl's wariness would take time to decline and was unsurprised to be met with it.

When answered with silence, Clarke decided to elaborate. "I...ran into an old friend. He told me he was participating in the Games."

"You know of the Games?" If Lexa was surprised, she did not show it.

But Clarke had seen it in the very nearly imperceptible twitch of a dark eyebrow.

"Darren, my friend, told me about it."

Lexa nodded her head absently. "Well, feel free to partake in the festivities. In the meantime, do you have need of anything?" When Clarke answered in the negative, the Commander took her leave, uttering the blonde's name as only she seemed to manage when she said, "Until next time, Clarke."

"'Til next time, Heda."

That night, Clarke had shot up from the comfort of the bed, hair sticking to her sweaty skin while her chest heaved with desperate gasps. She trembled, eyes wide and staring at nothing. Her heart raced in her chest.

She was at the Mountain again, but instead of pulling the lever that enabled eradiated air into the ventilation systems of the compound, she had traveled down stretched hallways, cutting down all those she encountered with a sword. Their blood painted the floors and walls in red. As she passed them, their bodies would burn and blister, radiation following close behind her. With each death, her soul seemed to darken and die. Screams and pleas filled her ears from faraway, sounding almost muted. The scent of iron overtook the sterile, stale air surrounding her. It was when she came across the children that her mind could handle no more and forced her into wakefulness.

Clarke inhaled shakily and glanced at the watch on her wrist. _1:47 a.m._

"Damn," she muttered, shoulders sagging.

Knowing sleep would not return for a while, Clarke left the bed. She pulled on her clothes and boots prior to exiting her room, the two guards stationed at her door close behind.

The cool night air enveloped her heated body as she exited the building. With no particular destination in mind, Clarke paced down the quiet streets, the heavy footsteps and metallic clangs from her guards the only sounds she heard. The moon was half-formed, waning, and the stars numerous and twinkling. They provided enough light to prevent the blonde from colliding with anything. It was not until she came upon the edge of the forest she had called home for approximately a year that she stopped.

For a long moment, Clarke stared into the trees. She could sense her guards' unease and she wondered if they feared she would take to the forest. That was not her intent. So far, she was safe in Polis under the Commander's protection. She had plenty of food, clean clothes, a warm bed; there was no reason to leave. It had been so long since Clarke could afford to rest. She was nowhere near ready to give that up. She just...the forest shaped her into the person she was. It made her strong, independent, fit, and self-sufficient. It broke her down and forced her to build herself up into a person who could survive the ground. For that, she would always be grateful for her hardships. She would always feel a connection to the forest.

"Wanheda." One of the guards called out, his voice baritone and drawing her attention. "It is not safe to be near the trees. Many still seek to capture you."

He was right, Clarke knew, so she offered no resistance and led them back into the city. She had been outside long enough, anyways. Her body felt ready to return to sleep. Her mind had calmed.

As Polis Tower grew closer, Clarke asked, "What are your names?"

The same warrior who spoke earlier said, "I am Augustus and he is Nunka."

Clarke glanced back at the two men, noting their similar facial features and athletic builds. "Are you brothers?"

"Yes Wanheda." This time, it was Nunka who answered. His voice was quieter than his brother's, yet still deep.

Clarke nodded. "You two must be skilled to be part of Heda's guard."

The men were silent, not wanting to boast of their prowess. They exchanged glances, not knowing how to answer.

Thankfully, Clarke continued, "Would you be willing to train me? I have not forgotten the bounty on my head."

To say Augustus and Nunka were shocked was an understatement. The regard Wanheda held was second only to Heda. To train with either was considered a privilege, but to be considered to have skills sought after by a woman whose reputation was practically legendary was beyond that. It was an immense honor only a fool would deny.

"O-Of course, Wanheda!" Augustus stuttered, brown eyes wide.

"We would be honored!" Nunka agreed, shooting an amazed glance at his brother.

Clarke was ignorant of what her request meant to the guards. With her back to them, she did not see the almost giddy expressions on their faces. She could tell they were excited, but attributed it to them being able to do more than stand at her door or follow her around.

"Your next day shift we'll start, then," Clarke said.

Both men replied in unison, "Yes, Wanheda!"

They were in the tower now. At the door to Clarke's room, she bid them goodnight once they assumed their posts.


End file.
